The Thing with Feathers
by Vanillasiren
Summary: Related to my "Siren Song," "Nevermore," and "Carry" stories. You probably won't understand this too well if you haven't read them. Despite all Raven has done, there is still one person who knows there is more to him than bitterness. One-shot for now.


The Thing with Feathers

_Black as is the raven, he'll get a partner._ – Manx Proverb

Summary: Related to my "Siren Song," "Nevermore," and "Carry" stories. You probably won't understand this too well if you haven't read them. Despite all Raven has done, there is still one person who knows there is more to him than bitterness. One-shot for now.

The rulers of Avalon did not blame Raven for what happened with Mab.

But Raven blamed himself.

Oh sure, the rest of the fair folk would think he didn't. They would think that he, the most unpleasant of the tricksters – well, amongst those that were still living, anyway – was not troubled by what he had helped the original leader of their people almost do.

Mab would have laid waste to the mortal world. She would have made war among the fair folk again, even more terrible and brutal than it had been the first time.

And most would think that wouldn't bother Raven one bit. There were even whispers that Raven had not been enthralled by her at all, that he merely switched sides when he saw the tide of battle turning, and later claimed to be an unwitting accomplice simply to save his own skin.

But they couldn't have been more wrong.

Coyote silenced this malicious gossip when he heard it, because he knew better. It was true that Raven had turned darker and darker over the centuries, but there were some things he simply would never be capable of doing. Coyote often disapproved of Raven's activities, but he did not scold, did not chide, did not lecture. He simply loved, because, outside of the mortal descendants from whom he was now separated, Raven was the only family he had left.

Well, except for _her _of course.

And why should he chastise his brother for his nastiness towards mortals, when Grandmother had already made it her life's work to do that herself? Sometimes he thought Raven only acted the way he did to spite her, her and her self-righteous, sanctimonious ways.

No, that wasn't fair. She wasn't as bad as all that.

It wasn't that he hated her, or even disliked her. As her name implied, she was at her core a benevolent, maternal sort of figure. And she had become something like a parent to him – to both of them – after their own mother and father had perished in the war between Mab and Oberon. When exactly the bitterness had sprung up between her and Raven, he wasn't quite sure, but it had been going on for centuries, and it showed no sign of letting up, even now that they were home.

For his part, Coyote himself has always gotten along with their cousin. The only time they'd really argue was when it came to Raven. And whenever they did, the dispute could always be boiled down a single exchange:

"You're too hard on him," Coyote would say.

"You're not hard enough on him," Grandmother would retort. And by that point they usually realized they were talking in circles, and let the matter drop.

But not this time.

Approaching his brother, he laid a hand on Raven's shoulder, who started at the touch. Ever since the … incident with Mab, he'd been quite jumpy. Coyote silently cursed himself for disquieting him further.

"Well," he said, trying to make light of the situation, "I was going to ask you how you're feeling better, but it's pretty obvious from your reaction that you're still a little tense."

Raven shrugged. "Yeah well … you'd be tense too, if you were getting the third degree from Oberon."

"I take the sessions aren't going too well, then?"

"Brilliant deduction," Raven snapped. "Do you have any more painfully obvious statements you'd like to make while you're at it?" He glared at Coyote for a moment, and then he sighed, closing his eyes and looking chastened.

"I'm just … I'm just so tired of all this. Everyone thinks I …"

"I don't." Coyote said quickly.

"Why not?"

"Because I know you, brother."

Raven let out a bitter laugh. "How can you claim to know me? I don't even think I know myself these days …" he lowered his head, looking more weary and defeated than Coyote had ever seen him.

"I'm sorry," Raven muttered.

"For what, exactly?"

The smallest hint of smirk on his face. It gave Coyote hope. "Oh, I don't know, take your pick. In the latest round between Grandmother and I for example, that little mortal woman got caught up in it, and … I didn't know she was of your line, brother."

"_Our _line."

"Yeah, yeah okay. I'm her great-times-one-million-grand-uncle or whatever. She's still descended from _your _little pup. You should have told me about the Mazas. At the very least, I would have made sure not to trouble them."

Coyote could've pointed out that he would do better making sure not trouble mortals at all, but he kept silent. Chiding Raven was Grandmother's self-appointed task, and far be it for him to deprive her of that cherished duty.

"Well, you were always on that island way out there, and the Mazas were in Arizona. Even after Peter left, I thought the closest they would get to you was New York. I never thought you'd actually cross paths with one of them. Besides which, I didn't think you cared about my mortals descendants anyway."

"I cared," Raven muttered sulkily. "I was good to your son, Coyote. I protected him when I could."

"Yes, and I was always grateful for that. I just didn't think they would matter to you anymore. After all, the bloodline's grown so thin now, there's virtually no chance of any of them having even a hint of our magic."

Raven muttered something he couldn't hear.

"What was that?"

He was silent for a long moment, and then repeated himself, slowly and reluctantly. "I said, that Elisa woman … she looked, just a bit … like mother."

"Oh." Coyote blinked. "You saw it too then? I thought it was just me."

"Well, I didn't really think so at the time, but now …" He stopped, pressing his lips together, and shook his head. "So," he said briskly, his trademark sneer falling back into place. "I think Oberon's growing tired of our little chats. I'm pretty sure he's going to turn me over the Weird Sisters any time now, and let them try to figure it out. As if I haven't been through enough."

Coyote knew better than to comment on the abrupt change of subject. "Three beautiful women hanging on your every word," he said, with far more merriment than he felt. "My heart bleeds for you, brother."

Raven rolled his eyes. "You make it sound like it's going to be pleasant. Let's not kid ourselves here. I don't care what they look like, I don't want those three poking around in my head. No one would."

"Oh, it might not be so bad. I hear Phoebe is in ascendance now." Raven raised a brow at that.

"Phoebe? Really?"

Coyote nodded. "And it's about time if you ask me. Fate and Vengeance have gotten more than enough attention over the centuries. They damnwell _should_ focus on Grace for a change." But Raven still looked sullen.

"Oh come on, it shouldn't be that awful. She's supposed to be the nice one, you know."

"Yeah, well, we'll see." But Coyote thought he looked slightly less depressed now. It was progress, he supposed.

"You will be vindicated, Raven."

His brother gave a contemptuous snort. "So what? I don't care what others think of me. Except maybe for you." He looked up then, and Coyote thought, not for the first time, how much softer his features got when he allowed the mask of contempt to falter, and let a genuine emotion shine through. He wished his brother would do that more often.

"Coyote, I really am sorry for –"

"Forget it. Your forgiven, it's over and done." And Raven smiled then, not a sneer or a smirk, but a genuine, honest-to-goodness smile.

Then Oberon called for him, and the mask slipped back into place, with an added layer, the smooth contempt now glazed over with a sheen of docile obedience. Coyote sighed, watching as they talked, watching as the Sisters approached his brother, as expected. He only hoped Phoebe was up to the task, though he worried she wasn't.

"I doubt the Sisters will be able to help." Suddenly materializing beside him, Grandmother spoke as if reading his mind.

Coyote frowned at her. "Don't be such a pessimist," he said, as if he hadn't just been thinking the same thing himself. "Besides, they need to try _something_ different to figure this all out. Whatever Oberon's doing isn't working, and the longer we go without answer, the more the rumors spread. Do you know they're saying Mab didn't have him under a spell after all? That he was a willing accomplice?"

"I know that he was not."

He turned to stare at her then. He hadn't expected that. "Do you?" He asked skeptically.

"I remember Coyote, perhaps better than you do. Mab and her forces destroyed your parents. Raven would never ally himself with her, not if he had any choice in the matter."

"Well … good." Coyote muttered. "At least you recognize that." He paused. "But I still say you're too hard on him."

"And I still say you're not hard enough on him."

The old, endless argument, resurrected once more. He was sick of it. He was sick of a lot of things. Avalon was damned boring, especially without the Puck around, and with Raven essentially under house arrest, he had no one to help him plan any tricks. He'd been dying to prank Odin since they all got back to the island, but he needed a partner to pull it off…

He glanced over at Grandmother, and she smiled slightly. "Do not look to me to help you in your mischief, trickster." It was uncanny, sometimes, the way she seemed to know so clearly what he was thinking.

Coyote grinned. Despite their disagreements over Raven, he could never stay angry at her for long. "Don't flatter yourself, cousin. You couldn't make mischief if your life depended on it."

She raised an eyebrow at that, but predictably did not rise to the bait. They stood together silently for a moment, observing as the Weird Sisters surrounded Raven. Coyote felt his smile fall away; in that moment, his brother looked like nothing so much as a bird in a cage.

"Perhaps we are both right," Grandmother said softly.

"About what?"

"Perhaps I am too hard on him, at times."

"Oh I see. And this is the part where I say that perhaps I am, at times, too soft? Well forget it, I'm not going to say that." He folded his arms across his chest.

She gave him a stern look.

"Oh shut up," he muttered.

He lips drew to a thin line.

"Okay, so fine. Maybe I am too easy on him sometimes. A little. Don't be smug now."

"Of course not."

They looked back to where the Weird Sisters still encircled Raven. The three turned from him to look at each other, seeming, as they often did, to communicate silently. Luna and Seline nodded at Phoebe, and then … they moved away.

It was a rather disconcerting to see the Sisters split up like that, and it drew some attention in the great hall. Coyote watched with fascination as Phoebe reached for his hand. Raven flinched at her touch, but she did not take her hand away, and eventually he stilled. There was fear in his eyes, and petulance, but he seemed a little less jumpy, somehow.

Phoebe let him by the hand a little ways away from the crowd, though they were still in plain sight of everyone. Then they sat, and they began to talk. Coyote could not make out their words, but there was something in his brother's expression that made him think Phoebe's method might work.

"Perhaps there is hope for him yet," Grandmother said. Another thought she'd plucked straight from his head. If it were anyone but her, it would have been creepy by now.

As it was, Coyote simply turned to her, with a smirk much like Raven's own. "I never had any doubt."

_Hope is the thing with feathers  
>That perches in the soul,<br>And sings the tune-without the words,  
>And never stops at all,<em>

_And sweetest in the gale is heard;  
>And sore must be the storm<br>That could abash the little bird  
>That kept so many warm.<em>

_I've heard it in the chillest land,  
>And on the strangest sea;<br>Yet, never, in extremity,  
>It asked a crumb of me.<em>

"Hope," by Emily Dickinson


End file.
